


graduated from hungry and made it to greedy

by sensescapes



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beginnings of kink exploration, Established Relationship, It's about allowing yourself to be vulnerable, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, OnlyFans model Sicheng, Sleepy Sex, Slice of Life, social distancing slash quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25511509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensescapes/pseuds/sensescapes
Summary: Yuta looks at him with sleepy, unguarded tenderness, which is how he generally looks at Sicheng. The effect is the same every time. It soothes over any tide of apprehension, patches up any sore point Sicheng hadn’t even realised he’d been holding onto.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 21
Kudos: 134





	graduated from hungry and made it to greedy

**Author's Note:**

> This involves Sicheng desiring to be harmed in a sexual context without really knowing how to voice it yet.
> 
> Sicheng considers a specific infliction of physical violence in the paragraph between the lines "He has tried and failed to pinpoint this feeling" and "In the living room"
> 
> It's very brief, one sentence.
> 
> This was supposed to be a short cute quarantine oneshot but was quickly overrode by my penchant for throwing handfuls of everything into the pot and stirring. It is still *mostly* a slice of life-ish quarantine fic.
> 
> Title from Gossip by Lil Wayne

Sicheng is two vibration settings away from a really good Wednesday night when he hears the front door slam open. His entire body spasms as his hole clenches around the toy in surprise. Coupled with the vibrating bullet teasing up and down the length of his cock, the pleasure is almost too much. The instinct to curl into himself comes breakneck and fierce, but Sicheng resists in favour of arching his back and exposing the column of his neck. He turns up the vibration setting of the toy filling him up, thighs trembling as he moans long and low.

He has enough wits about him to wonder vaguely, peripherally, if he is in the process of having his home invaded. Then, the distinct and familiar racket of a human barking like an excited dog comes from the other room, so loud that Sicheng knows he’ll have to edit it out of the video.

He lies back and plants his feet on the bed. He widens his knees generously to display the way his hole stretches around the vibrator.

The room door opens. Yuta staggers in and flops fully clothed, face first onto the bed. His arm slaps limply against Sicheng’s knee.

A terse moment of silence.

“Dude. I’m _working_.”

No response.

“Duuuuude,” Sicheng whines as Yuta blindly slings an arm over Sicheng’s chest and tugs him closer, trying to fold Sicheng into his side. Yuta buries his face in Sicheng’s neck and starts humming a song against his throat.

Sicheng is very hard, very annoyed, and very aware that Yuta is too drunk to atone for his crimes.

Heaving a great regretful sigh, Sicheng calls it a day. He inches the vibe out slowly, enjoys the way it drags inside of him until it eases out and his hole clenches around air. He sighs deeply again when he turns it off, turns the little bullets off too and extracts himself forcefully out of Yuta’s hold to stop the recording.

When he slumps back onto the bed, he snuggles into Yuta’s side and tucks a leg over his hips. Yuta mumbles something unintelligible into the pillow and Sicheng flicks him hard against the forehead.

“Ow! What happened?!” Yuta’s hair falls messily over his face as he jerks back in surprise. His gaze is unfocused, his cheeks and ears are flushed a soft red. He pouts. “You dwon’t cware me? You dwon’t wuv me?”

Sicheng isn’t really all that irritated anymore. Still, he says: “No.”

Yuta pouts harder. He tucks his face back into Sicheng’s neck. The scrape of all the buttons and denim he’s wearing is unpleasant against Sicheng’s skin. “Oh, okay, I understand,” Yuta slurs, muffled into Sicheng’s neck. “I know why you don’t wuv me anymore. It’s ‘cause I make you watch all those Adam Sandler movies, and I don’t refill the sugar thing, and I interrupt you when you work, and I’m not that good a singer, anyway, and you’re way out of my league, and—”

Sicheng shuffles back and cups Yuta’s face in his hands. “Yuta, babe, stop, hey, come on,” with a gentle, repentant touch, he smooths Yuta’s hair out of his face so that Yuta can see the seriousness of his expression. “That’s not true. You’re a great singer. I love when you bring your guitar into bed and sing me a lullaby when it’s three in the morning and I have insomnia. I love how different you sound when you’re performing for a crowd to when you sing in the shower. And I love you.” He leans forward and gives Yuta a soft kiss. “But it’s really not that hard to refill the sugar tin. The refill pack is in the cabinet right above the counter.”

Yuta looks at him with sleepy, unguarded tenderness, which is how he generally looks at Sicheng. The effect is the same every time. It soothes over any tide of apprehension, patches up any sore point Sicheng hadn’t even realised he’d been holding onto.

Sicheng makes Yuta drink three glasses of water before they shower. Yuta insists on tucking him into bed. He falls asleep with Yuta curled around him like a candy wrapper.

Around midday, Yuta wakes up and staggers into the bathroom with his eyes closed. He pulls out his dick and pees loudly.

“We should make a list of all the people we see regularly and limit contact to essentials.”

Yuta washes his hands, leans his cheek against the mirror with a long groan, then starts stripping off his t-shirt and underwear. “The bodega is essential. Move over.”

The water sloshes around as Sicheng scoots forward for Yuta to climb into the bath behind him. Yuta hooks his chin over Sicheng’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we would die without the bodega. But also, I think everyone in this building thinks that.”

“I’m gonna miss stealing shit from your parents’ house,” Yuta says through a yawn.

“I feel like stealing shit from my parents’ house is essential.”

Water splashes over the edge of the tub as Yuta fusses in the limited space to bracket Sicheng’s body with his legs. “Do you think they miss their toaster?”

# # # #

On the first day of the second week of attempted social distancing, Sicheng wakes up to a cacophony of hard thumps against his bedroom wall and inhumane screeching from somewhere in the apartment. Without opening his eyes he feels around for something, anything, and grasps at a pillow. He whacks it hard against the wall above him. The angle hurts his arm, and the soft sound of impact is drowned out by the screaming, anyway. Sicheng presses the pillow over his ears.

Then the bedroom door slams open and the screeching is like ice down his back. There’s a dip at the foot of the bed, then another, then another, until a body flops down right next to Sicheng, voice too loud for the early morning. Clutching the pillow over his head, Sicheng tries shoving his boyfriend off the bed with one arm. When that doesn’t work, he clamps a hand over Yuta’s mouth, and doesn’t flinch back when Yuta licks across his fingers. Then Yuta’s teeth clamp down and Sicheng retracts his arm so fast he gets a cramp.

A frustrated scream lodges itself in Sicheng’s dry throat. The bed frame squeaks as Yuta bounces up and down, shrieking steadily through another SSSNAKEPIT song. Sicheng thinks it can't get much worse until Yuta rips the pillow away and starts pressing dry kisses across the side of Sicheng’s face and neck.

Their neighbour bangs against the wall again, and although it's not his noise, Sicheng takes personal offense. He sits up and slams a fist against the wall to little effect; his limbs are still too sleep-soft to properly channel the hot spike of irritation he feels. The knee-jerk reaction to take a swing at anyone who tries to silence them has softened somewhat over the years. Hence the pillow.

Between one fruitless pound and the next, Sicheng’s neighbour yells, “WOW, REAL MATURE,” and Yuta bursts out laughing. He rolls across the bed, giggling, playing in the sheets like an overeager puppy.

What do they put in oatmeal for it to have this effect on Sicheng’s boyfriend every morning?

Sicheng flops down onto his back and Yuta follows. His long hair splays out wildly across the maroon sheets. Sicheng reaches over and runs his fingers through the long strands. They reach almost all the way down to the middle of Yuta’s back.

“We could cut your hair,” Sicheng’s voice is appropriately gruff for the hour.

Beside him, Yuta makes a sound like he’s considering it. Then he shakes his head. “I think I’ll start crying.” He turns onto his side, pillowing his head in his hands. “I think you should bleach your eyebrows.”

# # # #

Twenty minutes later, Sicheng is sitting on a barstool in the living room in an oversized KITTIE shirt. He scrolls past the recommended videos and opens the comment section.

“Okay, one of the comments says to maybe try brushing the bleach through with an eyebrow spoolie or something.”

Yuta crouches down to rifle through one of the cabinets. After a few seconds he thrusts his arm in the air. He’s holding a spork.

“Or a spork, I guess,” Sicheng acquiesces. He takes the proffered spork and brushes it carefully through his eyebrows to evenly distribute the bleach. “What if I look weird?” Sicheng ponders aloud without any real sentiment.

“You already look weird,” Yuta says, almost appeasingly, and comes around the island to pat Sicheng’s head and press a hard kiss to his cheek. He leans back and gazes down at Sicheng in amusement, then gives him a forehead peck for good measure.

Sicheng wriggles out of his hold. “Well whose idea was it to chop half my hair off with kitchen scissors?” He calls out as Yuta darts into their bedroom.

“Yours!” is the response.

“Yes! And you should have stopped me.”

“If I stopped you every time you wanted to do something risky and/or potentially life threatening we’d never be able to leave the house,” Yuta counters, walking back into the kitchen holding four empty mugs in his hands. He deposits them into the sink and turns around to lean against the counter. “Actually, we’d be confined to the bedroom, and personally, I think that’s where you have some of your best and most risky ideas. And anyway, you know I love going down to the bodega.”

“I would never dream of depriving you of the joy of a two minute walk from our apartment to the bodega. I’m just not that kind of person,” Sicheng responds, voice flat. Just as he has for the past few days, he runs his fingers through his own hair. He still isn’t used to the way the inky black strands splay against his neck. The uneven ends of his hair curl against his cheek. It’s just on the too-shaggy side of being a mullet. Yuta thinks it's sexy. Sicheng thinks, even more than the longer, shaggier hair he’d had up until three days ago, the cut makes him look childish.

“Just as I would never take away your right to bleach your eyebrows in our kitchen, even though later you’ll be sulky about getting bleach on your favourite shirt.”

Sicheng sighs affectionately. “It’s the little things.”

Yuta gets this gross look on his face, half his mouth pulled up in an exaggerated smirk, as he stalks across the room. “Speaking of little things…”

“Really,” Sicheng tries to compact as much disappointment as possible into his glare. “ _That’s_ your segue into sex?”

Yuta groans. “Ugh, give me a break. It’s been two weeks, I can’t count how many times I’ve had to segue into sex. I swear, it feels like I have carpet burn on my dick.”

“Don’t say it like it’s my fault,” Sicheng frowns.

“But it is.”

“How?” Sicheng asks, fully aware that he’s setting himself up for a bad joke at his own expense, but he indulges his boyfriend nonetheless.

Yuta bends down to peck him sweetly on the cheek. He draws back to smile at Sicheng. “Because you’re just… mad tight, dude.”

“God!” Sicheng groans, shoving Yuta off him. He furiously locks his phone and throws it onto the island. After a second he picks it back up and unlocks it to tell someone, anyone, that he’s made a mistake, he didn’t know he was cohabiting with a stand-up comedian. “I’m telling the group chat we broke up.”

“Oh, ask Taeyong if he finished that melody he was working on,” Yuta calls out from the bedroom. He keeps coming out with things they’ve been hoarding there that belong in other parts of the apartment.

“Asking Taeyong if he wants you,” Sicheng responds, turning his ringer on and typing a furious string of nonsensical words for dramatic effect. The timer he’d set goes off and he wipes the bleach off his eyebrows with a damp cloth. The skin around his brows is super red, kinda still burning, but, yeah… that’s blonde.

“You’d pass me off to _Taeyong_?” Yuta asks from the bedroom, sounding wounded.

“To anyone who wants you at this point.”

“Aw, babe,” Yuta drapes himself over Sicheng’s back. It’s an awkward fit, but Sicheng lets it happen. “I don’t care who else wants me, because I only want you.”

Sicheng turns. “What do you think?”

Yuta’s reaction is a guttural sound from deep in his throat. He runs his thumb across one of Sicheng’s pale blonde brows, cupping the side of his face tightly. Sicheng licks his lips and Yuta leans forward to lick into his mouth hungrily. The insistent press of Yuta’s mouth against his own, his hands on either side of Sicheng’s face sends thrills of arousal through Sicheng’s body.

“You look so hot, baby,” Yuta mumbles against Sicheng’s lips. “You look like The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. You’re just a septum piercing away from developing vegan psychic powers.”

Sicheng’s legs part for Yuta to slot in between as he shoves his warm hands up Sicheng’s shirt and caresses his back. Sicheng moans approvingly into Yuta’s mouth. He slings his arms over Yuta’s shoulders to bring him closer, feeling the warmth of his body. When Yuta cups his ass, Sicheng melts into the sensation of being held tight and wraps his legs around Yuta’s waist.

Sicheng whines into Yuta’s mouth for something, anything, but preferably Yuta’s hands all over his body, holding him down in some way. He can’t bring himself to voice the need. Yuta pulls back, dragging Sicheng’s bottom lip harshly between his teeth. His gaze is a familiar mix of playfulness and arousal, that, against all odds (their outwardly clashing dispositions, the way Yuta revels in things Sicheng would ordinarily be averse to) works for Sicheng everytime.

Then, with his forearms supporting Sicheng’s legs and his hands still cupping his ass, Yuta starts to lift him up and Sicheng starts to panic. “No, no, no, no, no, I’m heavier than—”

A pained groan slips past Yuta’s lips as he struggles to heft Sicheng fully into his arms. They hover like that for a few eternal seconds, Sicheng clinging awkwardly to Yuta, trying to tell him that he’s taller, broader, and _heavier_ than Yuta is. Yuta doesn’t listen. With a gravelly, almost primal groan, he bends his knees slightly and stands up to his full height for all of four seconds before he folds to the floor at the same time Sicheng tries putting his own feet down.

One on top of the other, they crash clumsily to the floor. Yuta quickly reaches out an arm to pillow Sicheng’s head before he brains himself against the hardwood.

Sicheng’s heart warms at the action. It’s the little things. Yuta shrieks in pain when Sicheng punches him in the arm.

“Why can’t we just fuck like normal people?” Sicheng groans, face tucked under Yuta’s arm. He curls an arm over Yuta’s torso.

Yuta tangles their fingers together and holds their joined hands in the air above them. He thumbs gently, apologetically across the back of Sicheng’s hand. Sicheng feels himself go limp at Yuta’s side, unraveling into something softer, into the parts of him that could fit inside Yuta’s fist.

Yuta brings their joined hands up to his lips and plants a gentle kiss across Sicheng’s knuckles. Then he bites down. “We can try,” he offers. A string of suggestions, like _let’s get off the floor_ , and _try carrying me again_ and _fold me in half like a letter_ , filter faintly through Sicheng’s mind. He doesn’t voice any of them. He lifts up and straddles Yuta’s hips. He leans down to tease with a lingering kiss. When he pulls away, Yuta chases his lips, kissing him deep and indulgent. He looks up at Sicheng in that tender brew of playfulness and arousal. There’s a smirk on his lips, pupils blown wide. “And _that’s_ how you segue into sex.”

# # # #

Turning over onto his side, Sicheng curls up and tucks his chin against his knees. He counts out a handful of measured breaths. Slowly, with his eyes closed, he reaches for one of Yuta’s shirts crumpled carelessly on the nightstand. The hem drops just over the curve of his ass. The fabric is warm against his skin; the familiar fragrance of Yuta’s perfume smooths over him in waves. He wishes Yuta could read his mind. He wishes Yuta didn’t have to read his mind, and he had the guts to climb out of bed, walk up to his boyfriend and say, _If it doesn’t inconvenience you, I would very much like it if, the next time we fuck, you could push my knees into my chest so hard I can’t move._

He has tried and failed to pinpoint this feeling, to Google Maps the anatomy of himself and zoom, zoom, zoom in on the red flashing dot indicating why he feels this way. It’s something he’s been craving for a while now, sparked by nothing he can concretely pinpoint either, although he suspects Yuta has something to do with it. Not anything he’s done, but his disposition in general. The easy confidence and comfort with which he considers Sicheng, the easy confidence and comfort he makes Sicheng feel by default in his presence.

He feels firmly that it is not about codependency. It’s about… breaking him down, not for any deep psychological reason, but just to see what’ll happen. How he’ll break, how it might feel. Is that in itself psychological? Whatever. Sicheng thinks he might enjoy it if Yuta walked into the room and slapped him very hard. Either that or he might be indifferent.

Yuta, who apologises to Sicheng after a particularly rough play in the bedroom for Sicheng’s job.

In the living room, Yuta is sitting cross-legged on the window ledge and talking animatedly out through the open window, hands sweeping through air. “I don’t think the primary purpose of life is to blindly support a failing economy and a faulty system until we run out of resources, and have to resort to blowing each other up to ensure our own survival. Oh wait, this long outdated system of ours already produces poverty, war, corruption and collusion and global fucking warming!”

It’s been raining. The fresh air smells of sap and leaf litter and rushes through the wide-opened window. 

Sicheng goes to sit across from Yuta on the ledge and, in the middle of a sentence about how the state criminalises change, Yuta pulls him into his lap. Yuta slides his palm up under Sicheng’s shirt, rucking it up to expose his stomach. Instinctively, Sicheng tucks the side of his face into Yuta’s chest and takes hold of Yuta’s arms to clamp them around his knees. Yuta automatically starts running his fingers up and down Sicheng’s legs. Sicheng closes his eyes and relaxes into the warmth of being so firmly held.

Their other neighbour, the nicer one, has a little balcony she comes out onto to chain smoke and go back and forth with Yuta about Current Events. Unlike Sicheng and Yuta—whom she refers to as The Addamses. Sicheng likes to think he’s Gomez—she still gets to go to her outside job, and comes home every day with an increasing number of complaints.

She says: “We’re so used to division and segregation that unity feels like a threat,” and then, “Here’s some muffins for the Addamses, fresh out of the oven.”

Yuta extends nearly his entire upper body out the window to reach the baking tray.

“Time for… what’s the time?”

“Morning,” Sicheng guesses.

“Time for breakfast,” Yuta declares. “You think we could trade two muffins for two cups of coffee at the bodega?”

Sicheng is already up and looking for layers to wear.

# # # #

“Three muffins, two coffees.”

“One muffin for two coffees,” Sicheng tries. Kunhang raises his brows in disbelief. He’s grown accustomed to them coming in and bartering with freshly baked goods. “Okay, final offer: two muffins for two coffees.”

Yuta is digging around in the freezer for ice cream sandwiches. “Two muffins for two cups of coffee and this popsicle frozen in an ice block at the bottom of the freezer.”

It’s a bold offer.

Kunhang leans his forearms on the counter, eyes wide and shining with a childlike glee. It’s always the challenge that baits him. “If you can get it out of the ice, it’s a deal.”

# # # #

The days drag on in a pleasant, almost artificial way. There are times when Sicheng feels like Yuta is the only person in the world, anyway, and so he’s enjoying the constantness of his presence. He’s not so sure Yuta holds the same feelings towards social distancing.

Yuta has a lot of pent up restless energy he’s used to burning in the studio, at the skatepark, during band practice and performing at seedy bars where you kind of have to be alert at all times, or you’ll leave with nothing in your pockets and nothing holding up your jeans.

He can’t scream as freely as he wants to, and he can’t play any instruments inside besides the acoustic guitar, and even then they get complaints because he’s still ‘too passionate about it’.

He helps Sicheng with work sometimes. He catches details that Sicheng would otherwise miss, since Sicheng, anatomically, cannot look directly at his own asshole without the aid of a mirror.

“Look at—what’s that,” Yuta prods at the flesh in the crease between Sicheng’s hip and thigh. “Is that a bruise?”

Sicheng is lying on his back with his knees hiked up to his chest, naked and on display. He angles the mirror in his hand so he can see better.

“It’s a hickey,” he says after a half-hearted glance.

Yuta leans down to kiss the hickey, then straightens up and moves across the room. Sicheng kicks his legs out and groans in frustration.

He takes his job very seriously. He’s in the top 2% of all content creators on the site and has a _very_ vocal, _very_ generous audience. He has hundreds of full videos on his page, mostly solo, where he’s tried everything at least once, but mostly a handful of times. It’s fun, it pays the bills, and allows him to work from his favourite place in the city: his bed.

But, right now, honestly, he just can’t be assed.

He’s showered, cleaned, he’s changed the sheets, dimmed the light and set up the camera. He’s got his Kelela sex playlist on. The lube is right there, along with two dildos he can’t decide between, but Sicheng has spent the last hour and a half not moving and doing BuzzFeed quizzes, and, _right now, honestly, he just can’t be assed._

Yuta gathers his phone and charger to leave so he doesn’t have to disturb Sicheng while he’s working, and Sicheng gets an idea.

It doesn’t take much to get his boyfriend in the mood. Seventy percent of the time, Yuta is operating on the cusp of horniness, and most of the time all Sicheng has to do is hold his gaze for a few loaded seconds, maybe give him a suggestive wink, do something indecent with his tongue, before he has Yuta’s hands kneading at his ass like he’s moulding clay.

When Yuta passes by on his way out of the room, Sicheng grabs his phone out of his hand and tosses it onto the bed. Yuta turns slowly with his eyebrows raised. Sicheng licks his lips and blows Yuta a kiss. He props himself up on his elbows and waits.

“Oh, this is what we’re doing?” Yuta tosses his charger back onto the nightstand and crawls onto the bed.

“Mhm,” Sicheng hums. Yuta’s hands are warm as they squeeze at his inner thighs.

“You want me to get you wet?” Yuta murmurs into Sicheng’s jaw. He nips at Sicheng’s earlobe, sucks a kiss below his ear.

“Mhm,” Sicheng allows himself to be felt up and manhandled by Yuta’s hot, insistent touch. Yuta kneels between Sicheng’s spread legs. He pushes Sicheng’s knees up to his chest and leans down to tug Sicheng’s bottom lip between his teeth.

“Wanna sit on my lap?” Yuta mumbles into Sicheng’s throat.

“Maybe,” Sicheng says. “Gimme kiss.” He tilts Yuta’s chin up until they’re kissing, teasing nips at first, until Sicheng grows impatient and pries Yuta’s jaw open with a hand under his chin. 

Yuta maneuvers Sicheng onto his lap. His hands are warm and firm against Sicheng’s back. His hair hangs loose across his shoulders, and Sicheng strokes his fingers through the strands from crown to ends, brushing it to drape in a silk curtain over Yuta’s back. They make out until Sicheng’s jaw aches.

With a single-minded determination only the squirrel from Ice Age could understand, Sicheng wriggles his hand down the front of Yuta’s sweatpants and goes straight for the nuts. “Gimme. I’m gonna suck it off the bone.”

“What have we said about saying things have bones in them when they don’t?” Yuta prompts. He lifts the hem of his shirt so Sicheng can see what he’s doing better.

“That we shouldn’t do it,” Sicheng responds dutifully. He pulls Yuta’s dick from his pants. The head is flushed and glistening with precum. Sicheng spits on it. Yuta hums low when Sicheng dips down to swirl his tongue around the head.

Sicheng knows what he looks like in this position. Has seen it nearly a hundred times, immortalised on video. He knows what he looks like when he hollows out his cheeks and flattens his tongue along the length of a cock. He’s gotten enough feedback to know it’s sexy when he makes noises, little hums, a lot of slurping, until there’s spit at the corners of his mouth and dripping down the length.

None of this is new to Yuta either, yet the novelty never seems to wear off.

Sicheng sits back on his heels and sticks out his tongue. It’s coated with sticky, clear precum. Yuta flushes all the way down to his neck. “Sex demon!” He says, right before Sicheng leans forward with his mouth open and lets the liquid drip onto the head of Yuta’s cock. It trails down the length and Sicheng wraps his hand around it. The slide is smooth.

“ _Fuck_ , yeah, god, this and a blunt,” Yuta covers Sicheng’s hand on his cock with his own and Sicheng tightens his stroke, until he realises Yuta is trying to interlace their fingers. Sicheng sits back and slaps at his arm.

“You’re so annoying,” Sicheng grumbles, reaching for the lube. He hands it to Yuta who coats his fingers with it.

“Dude, I’m in love with you and this is what you have to say?”

Sicheng ignores him in favour of maneuvering them until Yuta is lying flat with his head propped on the pillow and Sicheng is lying on top of him. He’s still loose from the shower, so Yuta slips two fingers in easily. Sicheng whines into Yuta’s neck. 

“Oh yeah, baby.”

He pulls back. “Don’t do the Austin Powers voice.” He shifts his hips lazily, feeling the drag of Yuta’s fingers inside him.

“You don’t appreciate my voices,” Yuta sulks. Sicheng kisses his pout away.

“Question: why do you love bickering?”

“It keeps me feeling young. And my Mars is in Venus, or whatever Kun said.”

“Stop, don’t tease,” Sicheng deepens the arch in his back and he’s rewarded with a smack on his ass and Yuta’s fingers brushing across his prostate with the new angle. Yuta adds a third finger, and a soft shudder of pleasure ripples through him. He nips Yuta on the chin. “He gave you that reading for free.”

With every rock of Sicheng’s hips, his hard cock grinds against Yuta’s through the soft cotton of his underwear. There’s a gorgeous, gentle flush across Yuta’s chest and Sicheng leans down to press kisses into the skin. He trails his lips up to Yuta’s waiting mouth to lick inside. When the stretch starts dragging a tad too uncomfortably, without breaking the kiss, Sicheng finds the lube again and reaches back to drizzle it over Yuta’s fingers as they pump in and out of his hole. Multitasking. 

When he feels too close to coming, Sicheng nudges at Yuta’s arm and he slowly extricates his fingers.

“Okay, how do you wanna do this? ‘POV you’re fucking a pillow princess’ again?”

“Shut up,” Sicheng chuckles and climbs off Yuta to lie on his front, face down ass up. He looks back at Yuta with his cheek pillowed on his forearms. “Like this.”

When Yuta drapes himself over Sicheng’s back and crowd in close for a leisurely kiss, he is lit aflame with the fierce desire to be restrained in some way, just like this, naked and prone. He’s bold in a lot of ways, but he’s never had the courage to be vulnerable. He turns away and tucks his face into his arms. Yuta mutters under his breath as he rubs his cock against Sicheng’s ass until Sicheng starts whining impatiently. Then he reaches for the lube and takes the camera off the tripod, fixes the strap securely across his hand, and presses record.

After, when Sicheng is too fucked out to move, flushed and tingling all over, Yuta manhandles him into different positions to take photographs of his cum oozing out of Sicheng’s hole. For the fans. Once Sicheng remembers he’s technically on the job, he peers seductively into the camera as he pets and tugs at his puffy rim. He rubs the cum into the skin of his inner thighs, sucks on his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous baby.”

Sicheng hums his agreement.

Yuta snorts. “Wanna get married?”

Sicheng laughs. “Sure.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’m joking, but we can unpack that later.”

# # # #

They meet for the first time purely on Sicheng’s luck. At some or other seedy bar:

It’s not Sicheng’s first time in this bar, but it’s his first time his visit overlaps with one of these ‘exposure shows’ for local bands. And it might very well be the last. Nevermind that the club is overcrowded to the point of physical discomfort, or that the music hasn’t stopped blaring since he arrived, what really gets on his nerves is the fact that not one person has offered him a drink.

Judging by the acts that had performed earlier in the night, the setlist is exclusively hardcore and metal. For once, in his all black outfit, knee-high docs and shoulder-length red hair, Sicheng fits in nicely with the bar’s crowd. Which is probably why no one’s given him a second look since he’d arrived. 

He’s grown used to monopolising the attention of a room once he’s entered. Whether through surreptitious glances or open, friendly or leering admiration, and it usually lets him coast through the entire evening, until early morning, on free drinks and food. At the best of times, Kun calls it mooching. As someone whose paychecks are split completely between rent and utilities, Sicheng calls it frugal. 

And then some retrospectively nameless guy with an okay-ish face takes the seat next to him at the bar and Sicheng indulges him. He gets a free drink out of it. The next act takes the stage to deafening applause and excitement from the crowd. He doesn’t recognise the band, but their look is certainly experimental. 

The lead singer is certainly popular; as the rest of the band sets up around him, he crouches at the front of the stage and smiles down at a group who are chattering and laughing excitedly up at him. He has long, long hair and rings on each finger. He smiles sheepishly as they fawn over him, he thanks them for their support, clasps at their hands, even lets one of the men plant a kiss across his knuckles. He chuckles, straightens up, and gets a mic in his hands.

The drummer screams out a count, and the band heads into the first song, heavy and electric, with a kicking and punching kind of energy. When the lead singer screams through the opening lines, Sicheng can’t remember why he’d been so opposed to these shows in the first place.

He pushes his way through the crowd with two beers in hand. The ‘artist area’ is stuffed in a dark, smoky corner of the bar, cordoned off by a ridiculous rope. Sicheng brings two fingers to his mouth and whistles. This isolated from the dancing area, the sound carries, and almost everyone turns to locate the source of the sound.

The lead singer from before, with the long hair and mischievous smirk, has someone on his lap. It looks vaguely like the drummer. Sicheng barely gives _that_ any consideration as he catches the lead singer’s gaze. He raises the bottles of beer, an invitation. He doesn’t know this man, has never seen him before tonight, but he takes his chance. The lead singer’s sultry expression breaks into a broad grin, and he throws his head back with laughter. He whispers something in the someone’s ear, and they shuffle off his lap. Sicheng catches his gaze again, glittering with mirth.

If nothing else, the least he’ll get out of the rest of the night is another free drink.

# # # #

Sicheng has a fitful sleep. He wakes up, irritable, at different points in the night. He twists and turns in bed. The next time he’s pulled from a short, shallow sleep, the lamp is on, Yuta is awake and writing lyrics in a small notepad. Sicheng is splayed across his chest, and Yuta keeps him there with a leg over Sicheng’s hip. He rubs soothingly at Sicheng’s back, plants a kiss on the crown of his head. Sicheng fusses and groans, soft and sleep-deprived. After an eternity of trying and failing to fall back asleep, Sicheng pushes himself up to straddle Yuta’s lap.

They fold into each other, easy as thinking. Sicheng presses wet kisses along the length of Yuta’s dick, feeling strangely emotional. When Yuta wraps a hand around his own, every stroke sends little spasms of electricity through him. His hips buck up, chasing the sensation of Yuta’s tight fist. He’s still fuzzy-edged and tender from sleep, but the weird floaty sensation he feels doesn’t settle into him in the way he craves. He feels scattered across the room. He feels… wrong. Like, like,

Yuta pulls him close, whispers, “Do you wanna come, baby?”

Eyes clenched shut, Sicheng moans in response.

“Really? How badly?”

“Like, a fucking lot.”

“I don’t believe you,” Yuta smirks.

Sicheng crawls onto his lap and they grind together. They muffle their moans and gasps against each other’s lips. Yuta reaches for the lube, and then Sicheng is lifting onto his knees and guiding Yuta’s cock as he hungrily sucks him in. Sicheng feels engulfed by a hazy sort of current, sensitive all over in the soft yellow lamp light.

A gruff, needy whine spills out of Yuta’s throat that Sicheng swallows up greedily. He licks lazily against the roof of Yuta’s mouth, across his teeth, sucks on his tongue.

Still, he cannot shake the feeling that he is out of place, out of sorts, like he’s floating away to somewhere bad. He wraps his arms around himself tightly to keep himself together.

“What’s up, baby?” Yuta’s voice, gentle and strained, is comforting like a balm. Sicheng hadn’t realised he stopped moving.

Without warning, the words punch through his teeth. “I wish you could crumple me up like paper.”

All at once, he feels raw like a scratched-at scab. Chipped away. He needs so badly for Yuta to summon him together again, to tear him apart, put him to fucking sleep.

Expand and contract, expand and contract. Yuta’s ribcage rises and falls as his breath quickens. Jaw slack, eyes wide, he stares up at Sicheng with open wonder. 

He says, “That’s concerning.”

The words pry Sicheng open like claws at his chest. 

“I just… I wanna be small. Not like—” the words don’t come.“I want you to put your arm across my chest and hold me down. I—I want you to hold me very close.” _force me into fragments, build me up in your image._

Yuta caresses Sicheng’s cheek. There’s a gentleness in his expression, an understanding. “I, yeah, I. To be honest, I think I would do anything you asked me to.”

Sicheng is breathing very hard. It rattles his whole chest.

He wants time to stop so he can sink into this feeling, dissolve in it. Safe and warm in Yuta’s arms. He suspects the feeling he craves most at this moment is to be broken down into pieces and suspended there for free, floating, blissful moments of detachment, then gently gathered together again in safe warm arms. Sicheng suspects there are words for these feelings and that Yuta might know them, or that they might learn them together.

He comes with a wordless cry. The tears are hot and insistent. Yuta holds him close, cradles him like a baby. Whispers sweet things about him like coins in a wishing well. Sicheng hopes he can come true.

**Author's Note:**

> Although it's barely addressed in the fic, I have decided that Yuta is the lead singer of a metalcore band called SSSNAKEPIT. 
> 
> I feel like I've just scratched the surface of Sicheng's feelings and desires, and I'd possibly like to explore them more within their relationship. We'll see!
> 
> I am on twitter @sensescapes looking for mutuals! <3


End file.
